Punishment

Takes place during DMC, after they pick up Norrington and are on their way to Isla Cruces.

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Jack finally opened his cabin door to the loud unsteady knocking and meant to snap, "What?!"

He never got the chance, though, because there was suddenly a pair of rough lips pressed to his, and a crushing embrace that took him so by surprise that he’d forgotten what he meant to say.

It wasn’t much as far as kisses went – just hard unloving pressure against his mouth, but Jack didn’t resist it. After a moment the kisser pulled back and whispered, "Sparrow, let me in."

Jack frowned. "Norrington? What the bloody hell are you doing?"

"I want you," he explained quietly, "Or, rather, I want you to have me. I mean…" he huffed in irritation. "I’ve no idea how one goes about doing this. I mean to throw myself at you."

Jack finally managed to pull his eyebrows back down out of his bandana. "I see. I suppose in that case you’d best come inside." He led the way into his cabin, gestured for Norrington to sit, and handed him a bottle.

Norrington said, "Thanks," after first taking a swig that was big even by Jack Sparrow’s standards.

There was silence for a bit. "Running out of ways to punish yourself, are you?"

Norrington let out a bark of laughter so despairing it made Jack wince. "It’s that obvious?" He looked over as Jack sat down next to him, and shrugged a little sheepishly. "So… are you game, or not?" He offered the bottle.

Jack took a slow sip and swished the rum around. "Has it occurred to you that perhaps I don’t bed people for that particular reason?"

Norrington snorted and snatched the bottle back. "Oh, come off it, Sparrow – rumor is you’ll bed anything with two legs." He took another gulp and muttered into the bottle, "And most things with four."

Jack had to smile. Norrington was interesting. Considering that "interesting" was the sole qualification necessary for permission to polish Jack Sparrow’s pistol, perhaps there was a future to this evening after all…

He put his hand on Norrington’s thigh and leaned close. "And these… anythings…" he purred into his ear, "Does the rumor say they leave my room satisfied?"

Norrington shrugged him off and turned away. "I’m not looking to be satisfied," he snapped. "Quite the opposite. I told you."

"I know. You’re looking to humiliate yourself in the worst way possible." Jack kept his hands to himself, but dropped his voice to an even more offensive kind of intimacy. "You’re hoping I’ll take you for a lot of blood and a lot of tears. Eh?"

A jerky nod was the most he could answer.

Jack stretched out on the bed with his hands behind his head. "All right – perhaps I could do that," he said easily. "Let’s say I’m game." He waited til Norrington managed to turn around and face him. "Good boy. Now take your shirt off, and go sit at my desk."

"My shirt?" Norrington stood up and started unbuckling his sword-belt. "I thought you’re supposed to have experience at this, Sparrow – the shirt doesn’t matter; it’s the pants that-"

He shut up as Jack was suddenly on his feet and up close to him, a finger on his lips. "Who’s throwing himself at who, mate?" he reminded softly. "You do what I tell you."

He kept his hand on Norrington’s face so that he couldn’t look away, and made him unbutton the shirt and slide it off his shoulders. "That’s right. Now sit."

Jack guided him down into a chair and stood behind him.

Norrington looked up over his shoulder and then, when he saw that Jack had a knife in his hand, jumped nearly high enough to put his own eye out.

"Relax," Jack said, holding him down in the chair. "Just trust me."

When the blade touched his cheek Norrington closed his eyes. "S-Sparrow, what- in God’s name- are you doing?"

Driving your heartbeat up to fool your body into thinking you’re aroused. "Nothing much," Jack said calmly, dragging the point gently down past his jaw to tickle his Adam’s apple.

"I… I don’t want you to kill me."

"I won’t," Jack assured, all business, "Don’t worry." He continued with the knife, skimming and teasing his way over throat, chest, and face until Norrington was panting openmouthed. He was alternately squirming or freezing with terror every time Jack dug the point in a little, and finally when Jack scored the soft skin under his ear, enough to sting but not to bleed, he whimpered aloud. "Did that hurt?" Jack asked, sympathetic now. He moved the knife around to the front as Norrington nodded, then slowly drew a line down his chest all the way to his belly button. An mmn sound escaped the closed lips and Jack chuckled. "Did that hurt?"

"Yes," he answered tightly. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason." Jack put the knife away and ran his fingernails lightly across the exposed throat. "Just wondering."

He put one hand on Norrington’s thigh and the other over his mouth to forestall any protests. "Shush. Do it my way. I promise I’ll give you what you need. All right?" he asked, rubbing him through his pants. "I’ll make you cry. You’re already bleeding a little bit." One of the knife scratches had turned pink with the lightest hint of blood, and Jack leaned down to lick it. Norrington hissed behind his hand and squirmed. "All right?" Jack asked again.

Norrington nodded and slumped back. Jack continued to play with him through his clothes, and after a moment laughed, "Already come to attention like a good soldier. We’ll never get the Navy out of you, son." Norrington shuddered. "I suppose the best we can do is get some pirate in, eh?" He let go and nodded towards the bed. Norrington rose, undressed the rest of the way with his eyes resolutely glued to the floor, and walked over to it.

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TBC.